


love doesn't care

by AliuIce0814



Series: cough syrup [5]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Steve just wants to help, brian banner can burn in hell, bruce has a setback, how do you help a friend who has a mental problem?, using fictional characters to sort out real life problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 19:46:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliuIce0814/pseuds/AliuIce0814
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce couldn't afford to hurt his friends. He was a monster, so why couldn't he convince them to just let him hurt himself? Part of the cough syrup universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	love doesn't care

**Author's Note:**

> Written mid-anxiety attack as my best friend tried to convince me that I'd hurt her more by trying to hide my problems from her. TW for anxiety disorders, panic attacks, self-harm, and related issues.

"Don't worry about hurting me," Steve said, his hand splayed across Bruce's back. Bruce curled in on himself more. His nerves burned. The Other Guy was right there, waiting for the perfect opportunity to break out, and Steve wasn't even flinching, wasn't even considering running? Bruce's stomach clenched. When he shuddered, Steve rubbed his back. "I'm right here. I'm not leaving."

"You should," Bruce said through gritted teeth. Tears stung the corners of his eyes. It hurt so fucking much, god, he couldn't breathe through the  monster clawing him from the inside out. "Please. Steve, I always hurt--"

"You don't."

"Don't lie to me!" The Other Guy hated it because Bruce hated it because "I'm not hurt" sounded too much like Mom covering up bruises with turtlenecks and foundation. He scratched at the sofa with blunt nails. He wanted to scratch his own skin, needed to out of mindless desperation, but if he did that, he'd upset Steve. He couldn't.

"Sometimes friends hurt each other."

A wordless, wrathful sound spilled out of Bruce's mouth. He couldn't tell if it was the Other Guy's doing or his own, but it left his mouth tasting bloody. Steve's hand cupped the back of his neck gently. The idiot, the stupid--he would get himself killed like that someday, the Other Guy would tear out of Bruce with no sense of control, and Bruce would wake in the rubble of the den to find Steve torn to shreds. He'd be responsible for killing Captain America, of course he would be, but worse, he'd be responsible for killing his friend, a good man inside and out, and--

Steve's fingers rubbed Bruce's hair. "You have to share the bad to have the good, too. I feel like what I do can't be enough. My duty's to protect people who are hurt or afraid, and I know you're both, but I feel like I can't help you. At least not enough. I'm trying," he said helplessly.

Bruce couldn't stop shaking. He wanted to escape Steve's comforting touch, to get away from him so there was no chance of hurting him, but there was nowhere to run. He was trapped. He was trapped. "I know. I know you're trying. That's why I'm afraid that you'll--if I lose control, if I really--I hurt you all the time. All the time. I can't stop. If I lost control around you or Tony or Tasha or Clint or Thor, if I really--I can't. I can't. I can't hurt you. I have to stop."

"Bruce," Steve said, and then stopped. Maybe he was searching for the right thing to say. Maybe he'd given up. Bruce couldn't bother paying attention to him anymore. His breath was coming in hiccups. He could hear his heart beating. He could feel it in every tremble of his muscles. The Other Guy, the Other Guy couldn't, Bruce couldn't, if Steve got hurt, if the others were hurt, Bruce was-- _you idiot, you bastard, why did you decide to stay, why would you let yourself hurt them, you're just like your father--_

"Bruce, breathe." The voice sounded like it was underwater, or maybe Bruce was underwater. He couldn't breathe, he wanted to say,  _I want to claw my fucking arms off, oh god,_ but the person, Steve, it had to be Steve, just breathed like it was the simplest thing in the world. Oxygen, Bruce needed oxygen, that was why he couldn't think, why he couldn't-- "Come on. Please." He was trying, all right, he was--no, he wasn't, shit, he couldn't be near Steve in case-- "You were doing so well. Come on. I know it's hard. I know it is." --how could he know, how could he possibly, Bruce was going to--but that steady presence kept breathing.

_For god's sake, Banner, you fool, if you don't want to hurt him, breathe._

Bruce took a shuddering breath.

The first inhale made his ribs pop. He choked, coughing, knowing from the sticky feeling of his cheeks and nose that he was crying. When he took another deep breath, his nerves seared. He wanted to take smaller breaths, shorter ones, because the pain made black spots swim in front of his eyes, but he kept going, fueled by the thought,  _Don't hurt Steve. Don't you dare hurt Steve._ He breathed and breathed until he could see again, could hear again, could feel Steve's hand on his shoulder again. His legs shook as a wave of nausea hit him, but he breathed through that, too.  _You can't hurt Steve. You can't._

As soon as he was aware enough to, Bruce pushed himself upright. His skin was clammy; he'd sweated through his shirt. He tried not to vomit as the room spun. The Other Guy grumbled and disappeared, back to the recesses of Bruce's mind. "I'm fine," Bruce said, though he knew it was obvious he wasn't. Steve couldn't stay. He was fine for now, but in an hour, two hours, two days, when Bruce's anxiety spiked again...

"Do you want me to--"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm  _fine_." Bruce's voice rumbled without him meaning for it to. He heard not the Other Guy in the growl but a different, far crueler voice, the voice of Dad's last warning before he went after Mom. The Other Guy slammed back into Bruce's forebrain, screaming for blood. Bruce had to put his head between his legs to keep from changing or throwing up.

Steve hesitated. "Okay," he said. Bruce listened to his footsteps fade, his heart banging against his ribs. Steve was nearly out of the room, almost safe--

"Wait!"

As soon as he said it, Bruce hated himself for it. Who was he to put Steve in harm's way? Who was he to tell Steve to wait when he'd already put the man through hell tonight? Steve came back straightaway because he was a good man. Bruce's hands shook as Steve sat beside him on the couch. "Bruce?"

"I--I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm--"

"Stop apologizing. It's not your fault. Did you call me back for a particular reason?"

Bruce hesitated. This was weakness, the ultimate weakness, and he was still sure that beneath all his stoic layers, Steve was disgusted by it. Besides, who was he to ask for anything? He'd been a monster long before the Other Guy. But he couldn't think like that, not now. Steve would sense it, and then he'd be hurt in a different sense. Bruce gave in and pitched sideways, burying his face in the crook of Steve's neck.

Steve immediately wrapped an arm around Bruce's shoulders. "It's okay. I'll stay if you want me to. I just want to help you."

Bruce's throat squeezed tight. He nodded. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> "Love doesn't care" is how the best friend got things through my head in the end. Bruce Banner always ends up as a metaphor for me in my fic.


End file.
